


A Sunrise Over Broken Things

by AshesofOrisoun



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, But I ship it anyway, Character Study, Drabble Collection, F/M, Heavy Angst, Introspection, Lots of it, No Timeline, eventually, everything is out of order, honestly that's all Kylo is, i hate this ship, probably character death, probably some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesofOrisoun/pseuds/AshesofOrisoun
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles, a short fics about Ben and Rey. They will be out of order chronologically, and very rarely will they have anything to do with one another. I will be following the movies closely, though I will be broadening the story with bits and pieces I think are missing. I don't want to ship it, but here we are anyway. Prompts are welcome.





	A Sunrise Over Broken Things

His blood had run freely.

There was fury in her eyes.

He had thought to still the tremors in his heart, the ripples of doubt creeping further into his soul; the death of his father had been to that end. He should have been released, finally free from the pull of memories that whispered lies like _family_ and _love_. The moment after of false calm was one he had held tight to, clutching it close for fear he would drown in the memories.

Then there had been pain, and _anger_.

And such anger it was, a coal flamed hot by the red slicking his side, and the defiance of a traitor. He breathed life into that flame, had spilled hate and malice to it like so much oil to a fire. In turn, it had flowed power through him, scorching his skin and burning though the remainders of his anguished heart. But that flame was an artificial thing, created to be fed. It existed only by his will, fanned into an ever burning spark by his Master. He had thought once, ever so fleeting, that he could have released the anger, just opened his soul and let it pour from him. Without his need for it, the fire would have dwindled, and been snuffed. The Light could have run rampant, suffocating him. Where would that have left him? What would he have been once this anger was stripped from him?

He had found his answer in her eyes.

A righteous, pure fury had stared back at him on the edge of that cliff, and it had blinded him with fear. It was a fear unknown, and it had broken against him in a sharp, cold wave. She followed in its wake, stripping him of the advantage, rending his armor of hate. He had witnessed the Light as it met with something darkly desperate, and the result was a creature of maddening ferocity. He saw then, for the smallest of moments, what _could have been_ , what _still might be_ , if he were to let go.

But he couldn’t think of breathing without hate filling his lungs.

She had stalked him, circling him like some great cat driven by retribution and the Force. Had he been on the outside, he would have witnessed the feral beauty of it all, could have marveled at her raw control. Instead, he sought out that flame of anger, only to find it beaten back by her unrelenting passion. He had faltered, unable to draw from his artificially constructed hate, and she had left him with a searing warning.

There will always be two things he remembers about that day.

His blood had flown freely.

There was fury in her eyes.


End file.
